After Prometheus
by marenubium
Summary: Vignette - Dr. Shaw struggles with the difficult task of repairing David.


"I can't do this," Elizabeth said with disgust. She laid aside the tool she'd been holding - gripping really - and breathed a rough sigh of frustration. "I'm an anthropologist, not an electrical engineer."

"Tell me again what you _see_ ," David replied, his normally silky voice was thick with fluid. The calmness he'd maintained for the past hour now had a thread of frustration woven through it.

"It's a mess," she replied. " _You're_ a mess. The damage is more than extensive. Shredded wires, connectors that have been completely distorted - I can barely tell what I'm looking at."

David's eyes closed as she left the table and began to pace. "What I need is a mirror - so _you_ can sort through this mess and _I_ don't have to worry about wiring you backwards! It doesn't have to be big. We could always re-position it as we go." She stopped, pulled off the gloves she'd been wearing and ran her hands through her hair. "I'll be back."

"I'll be here," David muttered bitterly, but Shaw was gone.

* * *

 _The engineers had obviously evolved beyond petty vanity_ , Shaw thought. Not only had she been utterly unable to find anything remotely resembling a mirror in what she assumed had been the crew quarters - over-sized beds, benches and tables had filled the wide, dark room - but she'd found no personal effects. No items to indicate unique personalities or histories: no photos of home, no grooming items, no trinkets. The ship was sterile.

Some rooms had tools she didn't recognize for hands far larger than her own, made of some material as matte as the dark walls that surrounded her. Everything seemed to be made of the same dull substance.

She searched exhaustively. _She_ was exhausted. The events of the past seventy-two hours weighed on her heavily. Leaning back against the wall of the latest room - barren, like the rest - she let herself slide down it, collapsing rather than sitting. She clenched her hands tightly in a mixture of frustration and despair. _There must be SOMETHING. There HAS to be something._ She was so lost in her thoughts she hardly noticed the first sly tears. When her hand rose absently to wipe them away she came back to herself, and the tears came on in force. She cried deeply. Achingly. Grief, loneliness and helplessness overwhelmed her in this dark place.

Later, wrung-out and bone tired, Shaw began to reassert herself. She flexed her limp hands in her lap, watching for a moment as the beams of light played between her fingers; the flashlight she'd been carrying had fallen away from her as she cried. She reached for the light, mentally steeling herself for another search. _Not futile_ , she told herself fiercely, _not pointless._ As she leaned, a glint at her chest caught her eye. Remembering what was there she first felt a deep, burning bitterness. This was followed - after a moment - by thoughtful curiosity and, ultimately, hope.

* * *

" _David_ ," Shaw said sharply, making a quick turn into the room. "I need you to recommend a method of controlled combustion here on the ship. What do we have for me to burn?"

" _Burn_ , Dr. Shaw?" David said slowly. There was a touch of confusion and mild concern in his voice.

"Burn." She said again, firmly. "And walk me through the casting process for silver." She'd reached up and began unclasping the chain from behind her neck. His eyes slid open.

"Dr. Shaw... _Elizabeth_..." he trailed off, meeting her eyes. The look he found there was fierce. Focused. "Are you sure? I know what this might mean to you. Perhaps we should simply try again to..."

"' _What it might mean'_ ," she echoed back to herself, looking down at the cross and its sturdy chain now resting in her cupped hand. She thought of her father and her faith as they both were in her childhood - strong and whole. She thought of fire, and Charley. The image of the slick, squirming mass rising slowly as it was pulled by the medpod from her stomach. Her free hand pressed itself there, lightly, so as not to disturb the wound.

She furrowed her brow and then looked up at David, smiling sadly. "It was made to be a comfort to the sick and wounded. As a symbol, it represented hope and renewal. _Redemption_. This is an opportunity for it to be those things again." Her smile softened. "We were always taught that - for even the _most_ broken - redemption was possible through service. Now is its chance to serve."

She smirked at him playfully, "You be the eyes and brain, I'll be the hands - It'll be a team effort."

"Thank you," the synthetic said softly.

She leaned in and kissed him gently on the forehead, "Of course, David."

After a long moment, he cleared his throat and began to speak. The fastidiousness and calm self-assuredness had returned to his voice, "Keep in mind, after the pouring and cooling process it'll need to be polished _thoroughly..._."


End file.
